


Discoveries

by Dash (Cydney)



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff, Masturbation, Other, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Frustration, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-02 01:39:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5228999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cydney/pseuds/Dash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a robot, Curie knew all the mechanics of the human body. As a Synth discovering herself, she learns how her new emotions makes learning infinitely better. - NSFW Fallout 4</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Emotions

_**Fallout : Discoveries** _

_**1 - Emotions** _

_****_Noun:_ An affective** **_state_ of consciousness in which joy, sorrow, fear, hate, or the like, is experienced, as distinguished from cognitive and volitional states of consciousness.** ** _

 

* * *

 

Curie stretched out on the bare mattress. Inhale. Pause. Exhale.

Breathing. It was still such a curious thing for her. Stores of information fed her brain, informing her of all the ways such a simple act affected her new body. Inhale. The expanding of the ribcage. Lungs filling. Air stimulating blood vessels. Muscles slowly reacting, from her eyelids down to her toes. Exhale. Air rushing out, her chest falling as if a bellows were at work inside.

She was thankful it was an automatic response – the progressive study of her science couldn’t _cease_ just because she forgot to breathe. Oh no. Not while there was so much more to learn and experience now. She was already finding herself becoming a slave to her body’s needs. Sleep of an evening, food for fuel, water for life. Not to mention the nigh impossible task of keeping her hands and ears and _nose_ clean from all the dust of the Commonwealth.

Her body, she had learned, was _very_ distracting. If it wasn’t all the automatic little flexes and twitches and motions she made as she simply _existed_ , then her new nervous system could entertain her for hours. Encyclopaedic knowledge of sensations and descriptions did _not_ do justice to eating something cooked. The scent of grilled meat, the texture, the taste. Utterly fascinating. Or the pain she’d feel sometimes! Standing up and scratching herself on corrugated steel, or pinching her thumb in the trigger of a handgun. Sudden and sharp, but scientifically amazing. Millions of nerve sensors rushing to her new brain to tell her where she was hurt and how bad, before signals were fired back to begin the healing process.

And then…

Then there was the _other_ sensations. The distracting, confusing, _exciting_ sensations she was beginning to explore in her precious private moments. The tingling she felt when she would dress of a morning, and her shirt would slide over supple breasts. A sweet little tickle that made her nipples puff up and harden, and each new stimuli just made them worse. _Better_.

Curie wasn’t naïve. Goodness – she was probably one of the smartest ‘people’ in Sanctuary Hills, with the possible exception of Codsworth or Valentine. She had medical knowledge of just how her body moved and reacted, and all the different hormonal responses that went hand in hand with it.

That didn’t keep the blush from crawling across her cheeks whenever she felt someone admiring her backside, knowing that she was attractive. She couldn’t hide behind a wall of science enough to calm her heartbeat in her chest, or the pleasant fog crawling up the back of her mind.

Curie knew the fundamentals of sexual intercourse – of human reproduction. Knew just how many _insane_ responses the body went through as it achieved orgasm. The hammering pulse, the hormones exploding in the brain, the euphoria flooding the nervous system like a drug. And she came to the conclusion that all those descriptive words did _not_ do justice to the slowly-building rapture she felt just from letting her hands caress her breasts. Soft, delicate tissue that sang to her as she brushed her thumbs along them, closing her fingers over her nipples and tugging slowly, experimentally. The _zing!_ that flashed through her left her arch upwards. Her heels and toes digging in to the bedding. Her breathing slowly becoming laboured.

She was grateful synths lived for a long time – if she dedicated even a fraction of her time pursuing science as she did discovering _herself_ , she’d never get tired of it.

* * *

Stimuli was important – it was one of the core reasons she _needed_ to evolve beyond her Mrs Handy frame. The greatest minds required inspiration to learn, to grow and develop. Curie spent countless quiet hours inside her own head, mulling over formulae and such. She learned just how powerful her imagination could be. But now that she had actual senses, her mind was virtually _feasting_. If she knew her worn, soft shirt sent gentle tickles along her skin, then just imagine what other things she could feel from different things!

Curie snuck peeks at the various hands she saw around the Commonwealth as they travelled. Wider, firmer, dirtier. Hands that were rough with callouses or worn from labour. Hands that had hardened skin from repeatedly pulling triggers. Small, delicate, feminine hands and wide, warm masculine ones. And just from imagining how each of them would feel against her chest…

She spent sometimes up to an hour an evening, lost in her thoughts. They were distracting thoughts – dangerously, even, if they were costing her the rest she now needed. But she couldn’t bring herself to stop. Not when she could lick her dusty fingers and tease across her artificial belly button, imagining some phantom lover hovering over her.

She knew enough about masturbation and sex in theory, but _now_ she knew just how vital stimuli was to the whole process. Why so many people stole away with romantic magazines and books, or lurid thoughts that promised sweet tortures. Curie was a romantic at her heart: brushing a finger across the folds of her sex tickled her. But when she was wrapped up in fantasies of a hot, damp mouth against her breast, _mon dieu_ , how she grew wet with arousal. The tuft of soft curls that grew above seemed more sensitive as she’d brush them. Her blunt nails scraped against puffy flesh and left her breathless. A fog would fill her mind as she gently touched and played with herself.

Even if she knew the motions to bring herself to her peak, she always skimmed the surface instead. She didn’t dare go that far yet. It felt… mechanical. And _that_ was something she wasn’t anymore. Curie didn’t just perform routine tasks – not now. She was human. She was flesh and blood and breathing. She was a woman who chased inspiration – and for now, inspiration brought tingling delights that brought her to new heights without going quite too far.

* * *

Piper called them “Blue.” The Commonwealth, increasingly more astounded with their story and their achievements, dubbed them the “Sole Survivor.” A moniker Curie felt was rather offensive – who needed a constant reminder of what they had lost? No – to her, they were her saviour. Her rescuer. The one who nursed an infected molerat bite and insisted the young man take all of the cure she was able to synthesize.

It wasn’t a surprise to her when her thoughts and feelings began to slowly grow from a sense of duty to… well, _more_. They had done so much for everyone, but they had virtually given her a _life_. And every day she got to experience new things were because of the gift her saviour had granted her.

Maybe that was why she found herself imagining them more and more often of late. The moments when she relaxed from her scientific pursuits were steadily growing filled with visions of intelligent eyes and a soothing voice. Of dusty travelling clothes and, _mon dieu_ , of just how they might look underneath! The slopes and the planes that Curie had eyed on occasion… Clothes disguised them well, but her imagination was strong.

Her fingers cupped her sensitive mons, _holding herself_. She didn’t touch or rub or anything else. She just kept her hand over her sensitive, private area. Was this what the other scientists meant when they described the value of emotional investment? _Ugh_. That sounded… _too_ scientific, even for her.

Still… it must have been. Because even if she wasn’t doing more than gently caressing her core, Curie never felt so slippery wet from arousal, so tingly and _fiery_ as she did when she imagined it was her beloved saviour holding her there.

* * *

She wasn’t aware she was biting her lip so hard until she tasted blood – a faint taste of iron that surprised her enough to sheepishly stop. But not enough to tear her eyes away from “Edna.”

It was to be expected, really – they could have been sisters, once. The Mrs Handy not only sported her same pearl-white finish, she even bore the same French voice as her own. Even the same intelligent voice! While Curie perused science, Edna chased the noble art of education.

“Now, what is fifteen times twelve?” Edna had asked her saviour.

“A hundred and eighty…?”

Curie bit her lip again. They were so _intelligent_ and it actually made her poor nipples puff up with desire for them.

“ _Monsieur,_ may I ask a word?” And then, Edna asked what Curie had begun to slowly agonize about over the past few days. Something she dared to think, dream, _hope_ , but was afraid to broach. Edna… had no qualms about it. Perhaps becoming human had cowed her bravery, a little…?

“What… is love? Do you think it possible for two people, who are _so different_ , to experience such a thing?” Years of being a Mrs Handy herself let her see just how often Edna’s optics lingered on the sitting form of the teacher she assisted. And _God_ , why was it taking so _long_ for her saviour to-

“Yes.”

Curie thought her heart would explode in her little chest.

“It’s… important. The most important thing, really. It beats all odds.”

“ _Merci_! You have helped me made my mind up about something,” Edna chirped.

Her saviour turned to her and gave her the barest hint of a smile – an attractive quirk of the lips that sent her blood coursing towards her cheeks and ears, that sent a bolt of electricity from her heart down towards her core.

Curie imagined this is what it felt like to suffer a fever – she felt perspiration breaking out over her body, turning her palms damp. Everything went hot. Her chest tightened, her head spun. It was impossible to think clearly through the dizziness that swept through her mind. Dizziness and a torrent of those same lurid thoughts from before, dominating her attention. Surely she was sick. Sick and _yearning_. Oh goodness, the utter yearning…

That evening she threw herself on her mattress, hands desperately fumbling at her clothes. She didn’t wait – she _couldn’t_ wait. She was on _fire_. Her underwear made it halfway to her ankles before she curled her hand over her sodden folds and rubbed, stroked, swirled against herself. The smallest bit of pressure and she _moaned_ as she finally slid inside herself. Curie didn’t care if she had yet to bathe, or just _how slippery wet_ she was. All that mattered was feeling some small _relief_ , finally growing inside her as she spread and curled her fingers.

This wasn’t what she knew of human anatomy. No book, no doctor or scientist, regardless of how poetic, could come _close_ to describing the delicious fire that spread through her. The euphoric haze that shot through her spine. That left her shaking. Muscles tensing and relaxing. It was so sudden and electric and _strong_.

‘ _Love’s important,_ ’ she heard in her mind, summoning that same image from before of her saviour’s face.

Curie’s fingers slid in and out of her sensitive folds, once, twice, three times. She froze and shook and _screamed_ a silent scream, eyes squeezing shut and mouth hanging open as she came undone. Centuries of medicine hadn’t prepared for just how vividly powerful and emotional an orgasm was – how _draining_ it could be on her petite frame. How she stretched out, legs tied at the ankles with her discarded panties, hand twitching, her clit _throbbing_ from her activity.

“Oh, _mon dieu_ ,” she sighed to herself. “Such… a discovery.”


	2. Senses

_**Fallout : Discoveries** _

_**2 - Senses** _

_****_Noun:_ any of the faculties, as sight, hearing, smell, taste, or touch, by which humans and animals perceive stimuli originating from outside or inside the body.** ** _

* * *

 

Curie eased herself down onto the worn out chair, feeling rusted springs squeak beneath her as she crossed her legs and folded her hands. Throughout her centuries as a medical Miss Nanny, she had often been called upon to share her perspective with her fellow academics. It was to be expected, really – she possessed not only a wealth of information, but also the sentience to break a stalemate when needed.

She often had two core opinions in her work – the first was, if there wasn’t enough information available to treat an infection, further study _must_ be conducted. Secondly – if she ever had the chance to escape her cramped and enclosed workspace, she’d take it. Even if she had to lie to herself and pretend they were Vault-Tec security.

She reasoned that _this_ was why she was feeling such an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu, as Piper popped a mouthful of bubblegum and sharpened her pencil, squirming back and forth in her chair to get settled.

“I’m _flattered_ that you want to interview me, Mademoiselle Piper,” she smiled, when inside she was starting to feel a nervous energy bubbling. She had begun feeling it more and more of late. When she was tinkering away at her little chemistry station, slowly working on her formulas. Or whenever she saw her Saviour looking in her direction, and wondering if they were admiring her body as often as she admired their distracting form.

Never mind the number of times she had sat bolt upright in bed, breathing in short, shallow breaths and wondering if she had heard someone close by. It probably didn’t help that she had begun to sleep undressed, using the stillness of the night to furtively touch her delicate breasts and clitoris. A problem which would have evaporated if she had simply _stopped_.

Curie just didn’t _want_ to stop. Irony of ironies, she had mused one evening, riding the wave of her climax with a hand against her sweaty brow and her tingling folds. She had existed as a robot for centuries. And now, within a week of becoming a human, had become absolutely _infatuated_ with orgasms.

“Well, _I’m_ flattered you’re up for it,” Piper grinned, popping another bubble before scratching her pencil along a sheet of paper. “You know, your story is almost as unique as Blue’s. Locked away in a Vault since the old times… Have you read that one yet?”

“Oh, yes. Once or twice.” ‘ _Seven times_ ,’ she thought. Curie often frowned upon casual fibbing, but could appreciate it was one of the many blessings of her sentience. “But I do hope you won’t be… publishing this? Monsieur Valentine tells me that within Diamond City, they do not care for us Synths.”

Piper continued chewing her gum, nodding away as she made a few more stokes of her pencil. “Don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours,” she mumbled from around her candy, missing the Synth duck her head bashfully. “This one’s between you and me. Think of it as a record, ‘kay? I’ve just been dying of curiosity to talk to you about it all, you know?”

“Oh, but of course! Curiosity is one of the reasons I had to do this, you know.” Piper grinned that easy grin again, and Curie felt herself relax. It summoned to mind old memories of hovering in the air, while Doctor Collins would ask her opinion and be pleasantly surprised at how much self-awareness she expressed. Those first few steps of feeling more than a machine, like a newborn blinking at unfamiliar light.

She hugged one of her knees and smiled, waiting for the questions to begin. She appreciated the reporter more than she let on, now.

* * *

The sense of smell was something that she had begun to take a keen interest in. She had learned long ago that it was often the most powerful sense a person was capable of. How everyone tied certain smells to ideas and memories. All it took was one little whiff of fragrance to stimulate the mind, the same way the sounds of a keyboard clicking or chemicals bubbling reminded her of Vault 81.

As Curie travelled with her companions, she found herself taking such mental notes about them. Piper often had a mild scent of sugar from her snacking and fondness from Nuka Cola. Until she paused to light up a cigarette, and the smell of smoke would smother the other scents.

Nick Valentine had a similar smell – how the prototype Synth inhaled smoke without lungs was a mystery she was rather interested in solving, if she wasn’t so sure it would offend the detective.

Cait smelled strongly of alcohol – the stronger spirits like whiskey that tickled her nose and left her wrinkling it. Codsworth had a constant scent of burning ozone and oil from his propulsion jet, and she privately dreaded to think the others remembered her that way from when she was a Miss Nanny.

Her Saviour smelled of mild sweat and gunpowder, and Curie wondered if her nose was ‘malfunctioning’ since she rather enjoyed the combination. But already her mind had begun to associate them with new experiences. Exploring empty buildings and securing areas for the Minutemen. The hectic firefights they often found themselves in. The aftermath, when she would often feel a hand slipping around her arm and a look of warm concern. A soothing voice asking if she were okay.

Mild sweat and gunpowder made the nervous, exciting, buzzing energy in her tummy rear up once more, leading her mind to wander about. Faces and moments and memories would bubble to the surface of her mind. Happy thoughts. Significant thoughts. People smiling with relief as they found out they were part of something bigger. Miss Edna, floating off towards her beloved teacher with a new found confidence.

A quick smile and a playful wink, after telling the struggling school teacher Miss Nanny that love was so very important.

Curie’s threadbare flannel shirt had picked up the same smell of gunpowder and salt. Of blood iron and stimpack’s and the earthy scent she had begun to associate with adventure. Of an evening she would pull it up over her pale breasts and inhale deeply, kicking her bare legs at the mattress and writhing as she teased herself to new heights of ecstasy. She would close her eyes and imagine the object of her affection was there with her, using their battle-worn hands to bring her closer and closer to her climax.

Curie bit down on her shirt to muffle her cry, curling her fingers inside her wet folds and hitting a delicate spot as she came apart. Her legs collapsed against the bed, toes wiggling and muscles twitching as her arousal stained the bed even more than it already was.

“ _Mon dieu,_ ” she breathed to herself, pressing her hand against her bosom and feeling her heart beating a staccato rhythm. “I really am becoming an addict.” The thought was as worrying as it was laughable. She pulled her damp panties up her legs, wondering if she had what was known as a ‘dry’ sense of humour.

She wondered what she smelled like, too.

* * *

“Let’s talk curiosity,” Piper said, crossing her leg and leaning forward. “You said you ‘needed’ to make the switch to human for the sake of… what was it?”

“Inspiration,” Curie answered immediately. “My duty is to science, Mademoiselle Piper. To medicine. But, I could not learn beyond what I saw as fact. I needed to see what else there was. To test the untested. Things that programming blocks would forever impede.”

The journalist nodded, making scratches along the pad and silently mouthing words as she went.

“So, you needed –“

“Curiosity, yes.”

“Right.” Piper nodded, jotting another notation. “How’s it been so far?”

“I don’t know where to begin,” Curie laughed, cheeks growing warm as she did. “Everything is so… distracting! Now that I can finally seek my answers outside of science, I’m finding myself with infinitely more questions.”

“I can _only_ imagine,” Piper nodded. “You know, I asked Blue about how it went but they’re not talking – just gave me the ‘none of your business’ run around, if you can believe it.” She rolled her eyes as Curie gave a polite nod, internally breathing a sigh of relief at the newest information. She was _still_ embarrassed at how dramatically she had reacted to her chest rising and falling as she felt her new body breathe.

“So – what was the first big discovery?” Curie blinked as her awareness came back, noticing that Piper was leaning forward expectantly.

“The first? Well…” She licked her lips, trying not to blurt out about her nocturnal hobby. ‘ _That would be stimulating myself to orgasm, actually,’_ she thought before willing the truth away. “Actually, when I first stood up. My legs felt like a newborn deer! It took me some time to balance on them.”

Piper’s brow furrowed. “A deer? What’s that?”

“Ah, like a… a radstag?” A look of understanding dawned on her face and she nodded, scribbling more notes. Curie let out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding.

* * *

Of the many places she had visited since escaping her prison in Vault 81, the Cambridge Polymer Labs were certainly a favourite of hers. Centuries of disrepair and Ghoulified staff members left the entire building in a shambles, to be sure. But the air was recycled and the labs were fitted with microscopes and clipboards. The lobby was spacious. The monitors _full_ of information.

Curie felt right at home.

And her Saviour looked _quite_ distracting in an old lab coat, which the Miss Handy Molly had _insisted_ be worn. Because after all – if one was to engage in science, one must look the part, no?

Her newfound perversion must have been worse than she thought, because even as they collected samples and read notes, her mind kept wandering to other kinds of science she’d prefer to be doing. Perhaps where the professor pulled the medical student aside, sitting them down on the edge of an empty desk and lowering their mouth towards-

“Found it!” Curie squeezed her eyes shut, willing her libido to behave itself. She watched as the hazmat suit wobbled towards her, wet with irradiated Ghoul blood and holding a tiny vial triumphantly.

“That’s most certainly what we’re looking for,” she smiled, accepting the sample as it was offered to her. This was better, she thought. This was familiar and fun – the pursuit of knowledge. The testing of alchemical formulas. It made her-

“You look so happy,” she heard, looking up as the hazmat mask was lifted off. Ordinarily pale features looked flush and damp from sweat, and she remembered just how hot a safety suit supposedly was. But the warm smile and twinkling eyes left Curie feeling much hotter – of that she was sure.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she sniffed.

“Yes, you do,” they chuckled, pushing the rest of the suit down. “It’s nice. You were born to do this kind of thing.”

Born – she wasn’t born at all. Not really, unless someone were to count her recent conversion as a spiritual rebirth. Perhaps they did. Perhaps they just thought of her as another person. And people just used the word ‘born’ instead of ‘made.’

She bit her lip and gestured towards the main laboratory.

“After you,” she urged, thinking again on the phrase they used. Born. Just when she thought she couldn’t hold them in high enough regard.

* * *

“What do you think is the most important thing for curiosity?” Piper made an underline on her page as Curie hesitated.

“Intelligence. A gifted mind will see opportunities where others may not, _non_?” She found intelligence attractive, as well, but decided against volunteering that information.

* * *

The samples were drained into the machine – alloy mixtures blending together as the tarnished power armour plate slid behind thick glass and lead plates.

“We have more samples if we need to do it again,” she hummed, watching as the metals began to infuse.

“I don’t think we’ll need them,” she heard instead. There was a noise of exertion – a light grunt – before the new chest plate was lifted off the conveyor belt. Iron now glittered with gold under the flicking lamps. “Experiment successful, hm?”

Curie’s jaw dropped an inch, admiring the brilliant finish on the plating. The alloys blended almost harmoniously. After over two hundred years of waiting, they had come along and completed the experiment.

Her heart thought it might flutter right out of her chest.

* * *

“One last question – what do you think makes a good _person_?”

“Kindness,” Curie answered immediately, smiling at Piper’s own curiosity. “Selflessness. I think it’s important medically, but it’s vital to a person’s character.”

* * *

“Hope you don’t mind me saying, but your clothes are getting a little worn out, Curie.”

She was certain her cheeks could glow in the dark. It was true – her flannel top had sported a rip through the middle, exposing a sliver of skin along her navel. The breeze she felt lapping at her skin did nothing to calm her nerves.

Worse yet – the rip appeared after a particularly powerful orgasm from two nights previous. She bit her top and arched off the bed, pushing her fingers deeper inside her slickened core than usual.

Blasted gunpowder and sweat.

“I guess I haven’t noticed?” She gave a blushing, almost apologetic smile, reminding herself that they couldn’t read her thoughts.

“Well… here. I picked it up back at the test centre. Found it in one of the labs and thought it would suit you.” A bundle of clothing was pushed into her hands and she slowed her steps, running a hand over the familiar Vault-Tec logo embroidered on the chest.

Her eyes went saucer-wide as she examined the clothes. Not a worn out lab coat, like the one that had been left behind. These were medical clothes. A crisp, white shirt that recognised doctors wore. Virtually the same that had been left behind in Vault 81, worn by hew fellow scientists until their passing, when she had folded them up and lay them atop their graves.

Curie had to keep herself from jumping and throwing her arms around their neck in gratitude. But she did weep and say thank you no less than a dozen times on the way back to Sanctuary Hills.

* * *

She kept her worn out flannel shirt, rolled up into a neat bundle to use as a pillow. She rested her head on it, inhaled the familiar scent of gunpowder and sweat and _them_ , and relaxed. And, as she so often did now, she let her hands wander down to caress her breasts and tease herself.

Curie had entertained many thoughts since her ‘rebirth.’ Lurid and emotional and sometimes just fantastical. But that evening she was slow and gentle with herself. Pinches were strokes. Swirls were delicate brushes.

Intelligent and thoughtfulness was, she decided, definitely ‘her type’ of person. The kind who made everything better and brighter, who made her _happy_.

She opened her eyes long enough to spy her new clothes nearby once more, on the back of a chair, before relaxing into her pillow and getting lost in her thoughts. Intelligent and kind and slow and gentle. That was how she treated herself, slowly easing her fingers in and out of her wet folds until she shook with her orgasm, sighing and stretching and glowing with satisfaction.


	3. Ipseity

**3 – Ipseity**

**_Noun:_ selfhood; individual identity, individuality**

* * *

Curie leaned forward, eyes narrowing at the bubbling apparatus. She waited, counting the seconds in her head and waiting for the glowing mixture to curdle or change. 

For the longest of times, she had often thought of herself as one with the medical profession. Not a practitioner, really – as a Miss Nanny she just wasn’t capable of the empathy. At best, she made a sterling nurse, ready at any moment with helpful advice and the necessary chems. But Doctor Collins and the others treated the self-aware droid like one of their peers, and the Contagions Vulnerability Robotic Infirmary Engineer was truly grateful for it.

Centuries had passed, but Curie’s respect for them had never once wavered. She was prepared to leave Vault 81 to observe and study all that she could. To pass on their legacy through her – a humble servant of medicine and science. She would seek out the men and women of learning and offer her knowledge in return for theirs.

It was a bitter pill to swallow when she learned that most “physicians” in the Commonwealth were that in name only. There were exceptions like Sun in Diamond City, but the rest? It seemed as if they had stumbled upon white coats and washable needles, and felt it was a safe career to make caps.

And so, she had come to a decision. She would never be a doctor – not really. In her heart, those who attained the true right to call themselves that had been elevated to it by their peers, of which she had none. But she would be the next best thing. She would use her talents to heal. She would earn the recognition of others.

The ideals of the human afterlife were often opposed to science. One countered the other. But if there was a resting place where Collins and the others watched over her, then she was determined to make them proud.

For now, she observed the test tube that boiled over her burner. Slowly, gingerly, Curie lifted a spoon of powder to the opening and tipped it in.

The reaction was as sudden as it was disappointing. The mixture hissed, turning an ugly shade of swamp-water. The curdled smell immediately assaulted her nose, turning her frown deeper.

“ _Merde_ ,” she cursed, waving her hand about to clear the smoke. The burner was immediately removed, the test tube lifted carefully by metal tongs before being emptied out the window. It was frustrating, she thought, dropping the tube into a bucket of water to sterilize it. Hot glass in cold liquid seemed to reflect her mood - bubbling and steaming.

She shook her head and switched off her lamp, telling herself that she wasn't going to make a Stimpack breakthrough tonight. It chafed her mood, but not her determination.

Curie stripped off her clothes and curled up on her bed, hugging her flannel shirt pillow. She needed a new spark of inspiration. Something to make her think outside of the box. The greatest minds before the fall of the bombs had always been blessed with such epiphanies and methods. They had confidence. Wit.

People who believed in them.

She reached out and pulled an old, thin rug over her naked body. It was a bit colder than usual, she thought.

* * *

 She never enjoyed violence. What had started as programming had evolved into a strong belief. In the lab, the most violent thing she ever witnessed was the euthanizing of a molerat on occasion.

“Sometimes, it's just necessary,” Doctor Collins had said.

The Commonwealth was infinitely more dangerous than the labs, of course. No matter the direction you travelled in, if the irradiated wildlife didn't find you, it was feral ghouls, raiders or mutants.

Curie had reasoned that, again, some things were just necessary. And it was good fortune that her Miss Nanny frame was equipped with a saw and flamethrower. Even as a ghoul collapsed and crackled from her fire, she told herself that she was a simple robot using her tools.

“I believe the term is ‘yahoo’?”

Now, she wasn't so confident in her logic. The pipe pistol she held was an awful, cobbled-together contraption. A block of wood and just enough metal to masquerade as a firearm. It felt like it would just as easily explode in her hand as it would fire a bullet. Never mind how it would face up to one of the Institute’s Gen 1 Synths.

But she wasn’t too worried – she had her Saviour, after all.

“Do you have a visual, ‘Charmer?’” she asked as they snuck around a wall of sandbags. Working for the Railroad was certainly noble, even _if_ Glory gave her dirty looks when she didn’t think Curie was watching. But most of all, she found that the action suited her. She often found herself sifting through the ruins of institutions and uncovering new ideas for her Stimpack research.

And, privately, she found that choosing the moniker ‘Charmer’ was quite classy, indeed.

“Just some Raiders,” they mumbled, scratching a dusty cheek and nodding past her down the alleyway. “We can sneak down there and move around. If we’re lucky we’ll avoid them all togeth-“ A nearby brick in the wall shattered as a round passed over Curie’s head, sprinkling them with mortar and dust.

“Never mind.”

Neither of them tried to aim much. Instead they hunkered down behind the sandbags and fired wild shots over their shoulders. It was rare, but sometimes if luck prevailed, it was possible to ‘convince’ raiders that they weren’t worth the effort. Curie was hoping this was the case, feeling the pipe pistol jumping around in her hand as she shot blindly.

For an instant, she thought she must have misfired, as ‘Charmer’ grunted with pain and nursed a wound in their arm. The sight of blood staining their clothes snapped her out of it and she knelt closer to inspect them. A mere flesh wound, she thought, reasoning that a Stimpack injected at the sight would clot the wound together just fine.

“Try not to move it,” she insisted, pressing their gun arm down amidst protests. She wasn't about to let a patient worsen an injury if she could help it. “I’ll assess, _oui?_ ”

Curie peered over their cover, heart stopping as a raider was raising their baseball bat, ready to bring it crashing down in top of them. Neither of them had noticed just how close their enemy had managed to get to them.

She didn’t think. She just pulled her trigger, punching a hole through the raider’s neck, their shoulder, going wide and missing all together, before another round caught them in the ear. She could see the whites of the eyes, wild with pain, staring at her, _through_ her, before they fell backwards.

 _Click click click._ Curie kept pulling the trigger, wondering _why_ nothing was happening, until the bloodied hand of her partner reached up and lowered her gun. She blinked, mind a jumble of thoughts as she looked down at herself.

The pipe pistol wasn't just empty - it was broken, the wooden block splintered and cracked. She hadn't even noticed. Her hands still felt numb from the weapon recoil. And her face was so _hot_.

Hot and _sticky._

Curie dropped her broken gun and ducked her head, trying not to be sick with the thought that she had been splattered with the raider’s blood. Already she could feel it dribbling down her neck. A pair of arms slipped around her neck and she froze. She wanted to melt against them. She wanted to _push them away._

She didn't want to be seen like this. Not in front of _them._

“It's okay.” It was a whisper in her ear, breath tickling her. Low and smooth and comforting. Curie tried not to shake.

“I'm sorry.” She was, for a dozen different reasons.

“Don't worry about it.”

“Okay.”

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe. Instead, she saw her bullets punching through the raider again. A round in the neck. ‘Two Stimpacks.’ The shoulder. ‘One Stimpack.’ The ear. ‘Bandage... Too late. Deceased.’

Her back grew wet, and she remembered her Saviour was still bleeding from the gunshot wound from before. The instinct to treat them rose up - to pull them close and examine, to heal. To take away the pain.

But all she could do was sit there and be held, hiding her bloodied face.

‘ _Some medic,’_ she thought miserably.

* * *

Curie had a complicated understanding when it came to failure. Doctor Collins had always said that as scientists, they should embrace their failures, because a person learns and grows considerably more from their mistakes than their triumphs. But then as medics, they couldn't afford to make mistakes. Not when people’s health or lives were at stake.

As a robot, Curie imagined that being able to make any error was a luxury. Now, she couldn't bring herself to leave her tiny room in Sanctuary Hills. She just wanted to sit at her chemistry station and tinker, and pretend nothing else existed.

Failure stung. Her experiments continued to go nowhere. She _still_ felt pitiful over the earlier gunfight.

“You sure you don’ want a drink? Puts my nerves at ease. For a while, anyhow.”

And then there was Cait. Curie had asked her to pay her a visit when they returned from their little mission. She had seen the shake in her hands and the needle track marks in her skin, wondering if there was anything she could do for the Irishwoman.

“ _Non, merci._ ” Now Curie just wanted to be left alone.

“You know I'm gonna stick around til you quit you're brooding, aye?”

Damn

“Am I so entertaining?” The words were harsher than she had meant, instantly regretting them. Cait only laughed.

“That's better,” she said. “So, want to talk about it?”

“ _Non._ ”

“I got all night.”

Curie squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted peace and quiet, but the urge to talk was strong. To unburden herself. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth. She didn't close it again until she had told Cait everything. The shock. The knee-jerk reaction. Turning the raider into a suffering, pulpy mass. And then the helplessness.

“I'm proud of you.” Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't hearing that. “You killed the bastard. That's all that matters.”

“I grew scared and turned a man into a _mess_. Ill fitting for a medic and for the Railroad.” And for _them_ , she thought, remembering how her partner had injected themselves with a Stimpack while she tried in vain to wipe the drying blood from her face.

“Oh, gobshite!” Curie squeaked as her chair was forcibly turned around, until she was staring up at Cait’s fuming face. “D’you think the Commonwealth has the same ideals you do?” The Synth flushed with defence.

“I am a medic - _not_ a killer.”

“I don't care, an’ neither do raiders.” By now Cait was leaning down, getting closer than Curie was comfortable with, her voice dropping to an icy tone.

“Do you know what they’d do to someone as pretty as you? They'd either cook you over a fire of have their way with your body. Fuck, they'd probably do both. And don't think it matters if you're dead or alive, neither.”

Curie inhaled slowly and steadily, willing herself not to think about what might've happened if it were true.

“And if you go gettin’ yourself killed, I'd say our fearless leader would go crawl back into their Vault and put themselves on ice again.”

“They’d never-!”

“Don't be stupid! Y’think they're not stealin’ looks at you?” Curie’s mind was starting to race again. She told herself that her Saviour wouldn't allow her demise to affect them so drastically. They were so much stronger than that! And there was Shaun, wasn't there?

Did they really steal looks at her…?

“So.” Cait leaned back, keeping her hands on the armrests of the chair and staring down at the Synth. “You survived. _They_ survived. Just who do you think you failed today?”

“I panicked-”

“And next time you won't. Who did you fail?”

“I panicked and broke the gun while I was shooting someone!”

“So _aim for the head_ next time. Now who did you fail?!”

“I don't know!”

Curie didn't know what to think. She just wanted to yell at Cait some more. To ignore the hot tightness in her chest and the nervous twitch in her hands.

“I want to _heal_ people! To ‘do no harm!’ And today we only survived because I made a bad man bleed out!” She felt her face growing hot and her breath coming in ragged pants, but finally Cait was leaning away from her. Watching, listening. No longer judging.

“And I couldn't protect _them._ I couldn't treat their wound. I could barely protect _me_. I _failed_ , Cait. I failed as a medic and as a capable companion.”

Curie blinked, feeling her eyes sting with unshed tears. She just wanted to be _left alone_ for a while.

“You survived,” Cait said, breaking the silence. Softer, gentler, more soothing than before. “You lived and you learned from it. That's more than most do.”

The redhead backed away from the Synth, crossing her arms over her chest and looking down at her. “If you want to heal people, sometimes the best you can do is stop someone from hurtin’ them in the first place. And out here, the only way to stop someone is fatally.”

Curie kept her head down, feeling ashamed from her outburst. Her heart was going a mile an hour, but as Cait continued she summoned to mind Doctor Collins from centuries before.

‘ _Sometimes, it's just necessary,’_ he had said, destroying a molerat via lethal ejection.

“Here.” She looked up, blinking through watery eyes as Cait held a mutfruit towards her. “Eat up and get some sleep. You've got a big day tomorrow.” She wordlessly took the fruit, turning it over before her brow furrowed. Big day?

“You an’ fearless leader are going back on the road,” Cait said, leaving no room for argument. “Today you fell off the brahmin. If you don't get back on right away, soon you'll be too afraid to.”

Curie said nothing, turning the fruit over without really looking at it. She didn't have much of an appetite. She'd wait until she was alone and leave it on her bench.

“Oi, egghead.” She looked up to see Cait standing halfway outside of her door. “If you have to pick between bein’ a doctor and a survivor, then for the love of _fuck_ , toss out the Stimpack’s and get a better gun.”

She mulled over the words as Cait closed the door behind her. She wasn't naive - it was the closest she would get to comforting words from the Irishwoman.

The problem was, she was a medic her whole life. It _was_ her life. And she didn't think she could give up that part of herself. Not for her or Cait. Not even for... _them._

Curie had never had such a restless night in her life. The rolled up shirt she rested her head on felt lumpy and hot. The scent of sweat and gunpowder didn't sooth her like it usually did. It just summoned images of a bloody arm and a broken pipe gun.

She pulled her hands through her short hair. She tossed and turned and stretched out and curled up tight again. She palmed her breasts and plucked her nipples until they were too sensitive to touch. She planted her feet against the mattress and desperately toyed with herself. Rubbing her clit until it throbbed and burying two fingers into her core. Deeper and harder and faster until she shook with her climax.

And then she rolled over and did it again. And again. She didn't want to think about the day behind her. She just wanted to feel _good_. To feel so spent, physically and emotionally, that she would just pass out and sleep.

Curie collapsed, boneless and thirsty and _gone_ on her fifth orgasm.

* * *

She awoke late the next day, tired and with large circles under her eyes. Curie swallowed a bottle of room-temperature water before her head stopped thumping. It was an effort to dress herself. And her appetite still wasn’t agreeing with her. The mutfruit was ignored once again. When she finally left her quarters she met Nick outside, measuring some metal against a workbench.

“Well,” he drawled, looking the other Synth up and down. “Don’t need to be a private eye to see that you had a rough night. Why don’t you take it easy for the day?”

She wanted to. It was so _tempting_ to go back to bed for a while or bend over her chemistry set and try another formula. To just ignore the sun beating down on her messy hair and pale face.

“I believe I’m due to travel more today, _Monsieur_ Valentine.”

“Guess again.” They both turned, noticing Piper ambling up to them, blowing smoke from her lit cigarette. “Figured you must’ve had a hard night – looks like I was right.” She nodded at Curie who flushed. “Anyhow, Blue’s taken Dogmeat for a walk around the Sunset settlement. Said they’re gonna try and reinforce it a bit.”

“Guess we’ve all got time off, then,” Nick muttered, returning to his work at the bench.

“ _Oui_ , so it would seem.”

Curie wanted a day off. Perhaps even needed it. Now… she wasn’t so sure anymore. It was easy to think of them, her Saviour, waiting for her before giving up and taking Dogmeat.

It was a painful thought. She shut her eyes, telling herself that they were simply exercising the dog. There was no danger at the Sunset Drive In. They were just keeping busy helping everyone, like always.

She filled a canteen with ground water and returned to her room, trying to decide on another Stimpack formula to try out.

* * *

It was three days later when she found herself travelling again, and even with mixed feelings about her effectiveness, she _needed_ to get out of her room. She had ruined no less than a dozen different blood samples in her quest to make their current medicine more effective. Some had reacted so badly that she needed Hancock to help get rid of it – the Ghoul holding a test tube at arm’s length while she dug a hole outside of town to bury it in.

It was hard _not_ to think of her failures, especially when her supply of ingredients and chemicals were running low. But her system of paperwork had evolved considerably. Rather than a neat pile of notes, she found herself scattering them over the desk and wall, drawing lines and crossing out elements as she came to new realisations.

It was a method that Doctor Collins had used a lot, so long ago. And she was feeling marginally better for it. Her mistakes were teaching her. Little by little, she was improving.

She had still managed to live off mostly water, vegetables and some Brahmin meat, and after spending three days locked inside her room she was starting to feel like she was back in Vault 81 again. It was a breath of relief when she heard the knock on her door and that warm, familiar face leaning inside again.

“Care to travel together, Curie?”

‘ _Always_ ,’ she thought.

* * *

As much as she disliked violence, she felt utterly alone when they split up. It was rare, but now and again she had been asked to stay put while they crawled closer to scout ahead. For now, she kneeled behind a building and worried at her lip, sticking close to the shadows.

She still hadn’t replaced the pipe pistol – she didn’t want to, either. She’d use the extra room in her pockets and belt for medicine and Stimpack’s, she told herself.

That was her value. She was the medic of their little group.

“ _Mon dieu_ ,” she sighed, squinting out now and again to see if she could spot them amongst the rubble. All she needed was a glimpse of their battered hat, or a wave of a hand.

Instead, a nearby vehicle exploded. Heat struck her face like a backdraft and she brought her hands up to cover herself. Gunshots were going off before she steadied herself.

And she _ran_. Before she could stop and think about where to go or what to do, she just _moved_ , leaving her cover and moving into the firefight. She had no real weapon, but she had no survival instinct, either. She just a need to get out there, in case _they_ were hurt. In case she was needed.

‘ _Doctor’s do no harm_ ,’ she remembered Collin’s saying as she fled past a choking Gunner, leg missing and quickly bleeding to death. But she didn’t stop. There was nothing she could do, she told herself, and they were _bad_. This was the Commonwealth, and it was all about survival.

‘ _The kindest thing you can do out there is put them down quick before they hurt anyone._ ’ Cait’s advice rang truer in her mind. Curie knew the Irishwoman had lived through more roughness than most medics ever saw in their lives. Collin’s would always be a dear mentor to her, but the world he knew was long gone. There were no doctors anymore. Just people who knew the human body better than the next person. People who wore coats and used washable needles for caps.

They were all just survivors, now. It came down to who was better – the person who could aim a gun straight, and the person who knew _where_ to aim it at. And Curie knew everything there was to know about the human body. So when she saw her hero, using the stock of their gun to repel another Gunner, she just _reacted_.

She later thought that this must be what it was like to be under the influence of Jet – where the heart sped up and adrenaline spiked so hard that time seemed to crawl slower.

Doctor’s did no harm. But she wasn’t a doctor. She was a _survivor_. And Curie grunted with exertion as she pulled a knife from her boot and buried it in the Gunner’s exposed sternum, piercing what she _knew_ was the aorta. Hot blood splashed out but it didn’t matter to her.

“ _You will not hurt them_ ,” she hissed in French, breathing laboured from her run. The knife and her hand were sticky and she let go, watching as they took a step backwards before falling over.

There was still a chance to spare them, she thought. Her mind raced, knowing what she would need to do. Remove the blade. Apply buffout to fight infection. Three Stimpack’s administered at once. She could save their life.

But she didn’t. Instead, she remembered Cait’s words, and wondered how many chances to walk away from the Gunner’s that they already had. How many more lives would be enriched by this one passing away?

‘ _This one_ ,’ she thought, turning back to her dazed Saviour and withdrawing a Stimpack. “This will help,” she said, pushing the needle into the side of their arm and injecting the drug. This was the life that mattered most to her.

That’s what it meant to be a medic of the Commonwealth, wasn’t it?

* * *

The road home had been long, but they talked at great length, and Sanctuary Hills had appeared on the horizon of Concord in no time.

“It’s good to see you’re feeling better. I was worried about you.”

She ducked her head and smiled, cheeks colouring at the compliment. She did feel better. For the first time in days, she felt like she had a grasp of who she was. Of what she could offer in a world that had fallen so much with the nuclear bombs. It felt like she had discovered the balance between being a medic and a survivor.

But most of all, she felt real joy at being reunited with _them_.

And she was more than just a woman pretending to be a nurse. Cait was right. She _had_ learned from her mistakes. She was stronger than before. And she would continue to get stronger. She knew her identity, now.

“I believe tomorrow I shall look at replacing my weapon,” she hummed, hands clasped behind her back. “Perhaps another little handgun, _non_? For emergencies, of course.”

“I think you’d look rather cute with a Stimpack in one hand and a firearm in the other.” It was coy and teasing and accompanied with a smile that did funny things to her insides.

* * *

Curie gasped softly in the evening air, clinging to her flannel pillow as she brought herself closer to her building climax. It was the first time she had used a test tube _this_ way. She had always put it off, at first thinking it was too vulgar to use her equipment in that way. And then out of fear – because the glass pipe was clean and smooth, but it was surely bigger than her nimble fingers.

Tonight though, she went further. She felt bolder. She was still haunted, but this time it was of teasing smiles and confessions that she was ‘cute.’ And she was right – the tube _was_ thicker than she was used to, but maybe that was why it sent her head spinning. Slowly she felt herself adjust to her new toy. Her folds spreading over the glass curve, sliding it within her core and easing it back and forth.

She _still_ felt dirty using her equipment like she was, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. She was feeling fuller than before, stimulating clusters of nerves that she didn’t even know she had.

‘ _… you’d look rather cute…’_ Her mouth hung open as her orgasm crashed over her, shaking her legs and stomach and leaving her drained like never before. She dared not move – all she wanted to do was stretch out on her bed and let the evening air caress her naked body. It was all she _could_ do. Her muscles failed her until she managed to slowly slide the narrow bottle out of her entrance.

“I need to tell them,” she breathed, chest still heaving. She couldn’t go on. Her body was on fire and the only thing that managed to help was the thought of _them_. And the longer she took, the more it affected her.

She needed to let them know, sooner rather than later.


	4. Fortitude

**4 - Fortitude**

**_Noun:_ ** **mental and emotional strength in facing difficulty, adversity, danger, or temptation courageously.**

* * *

 

 It had been a week since Cait had brought her the mutfruit, and Curie woke one morning to the stale smell of deteriorating food in her room. She wrinkled her nose and dressed in a hurry, grabbing the decaying fruit and marching outside to throw it away.

She returned a moment later, still holding the dead plant in one hand and a freshly plucked one in the other.

‘ _A week_ ,’ she thought, ideas firing through her mind as she sat them both on her workbench and began carefully cutting them both open. An entire week of sitting on her bench before it began to rot. She knew they were hardy fruits - they were found growing wild all over the Commonwealth with hardly any care at all. But to survive _this_ long?

Curie made slices and examined seeds, noting where the flesh had begun to age and where the stem had been severed. There was _something_ here - she was sure of it. Some preservative. Something unique to make it so hardy.

And she was going to find it, damn it.

* * *

Inhale. Hold. Fire.

She missed the tin can she was aiming at, instead splintering the wood of the beam it sat on. Closer to her mark than before, which she considered _some_ small progress, but not close enough. And of course, if the time came that she needed to draw a weapon, she couldn’t expect her offender to stand still for her while she closed her eye, aimed her gun and held her breath.

Curie wet her lips, raised the _Deliverer_ again, and squeezed the trigger. The was a muffled ‘ _pwiff!_ ’ as the handgun jumped in her hand. The can fell off the beam - the round brushing the edge, glancing off instead of striking the center. But still an improvement, she felt.

“Told you it was a suppressor.” Her heart thumped in her chest as she heard a familiar drawl, whirling around with embarrassment to see that Nick and John had discovered her little ‘shooting range.’

“Ah, morning _Monsieur_ Hancock, Valentine,” she smiled awkwardly, feeling flushed at the sudden fright that the pair had given her. And from being caught at practice.

“And to _you_ my lady,” Hancock announced, bowing theatrically before being nudged by the Synth.

“I see you're putting Deacon’s little gift through its paces.”

“ _Oui,_ Nick. For defence, of course.”

“Yeah,” Hancock muttered. “But what's the point?” Another swift nudge of a metal elbow caught him in the side and the Ghoul coughed. She couldn't help the flush on her face at whatever _that_ implication was.

“I wasn't aware my marksmanship was so amusing,” she remarked dryly.

“Yeah, well.” John cleared his throat, the familiar gravelly Ghoul tone clearing up again after Nick’s nudging. “All I meant was its nice and all, but you're _not_ the stealthy type of lady who’d need a silencer.”

‘ _Oh._ ’ She hadn't considered that.

“He’s got a point,” Nick added, bringing a cigarette to his artificial lips and lighting up. “You're a tall gal and you wear bright white. You tend to stand out a bit, kid.” Smoke puffed out of his mouth and the ragged hole in his neck, as the Ghoul mulled it over.

“Like a whole lot, really.”

Curie frowned, turning the pistol over in her hand and looking at it. She had reasoned that it was light and small, and that perhaps the suppressor would make it easier for her to fire it. But she remembered that making a mistake was just another part of ‘being human,’ and she learned more from making them than if she didn't.

“It seems I'm in over my head,” she admitted, handing the _Deliverer_ to Hancock. The Ghoul immediately began to admire and study the weapon - she imagined it was the same look she had when she poured over her lab equipment. “Any suggestions, gentlemen?”

Nick breathed out another puff of smoke before he nudged Hancock, gentler this time. “How about a firecracker?”

The Ghoul stopped looking at the handgun to glance up, brow raised with consideration. He turned to look at Curie, giving her a thoughtful look that left her feeling more worried than anything else. “Firecracker would work well,” he finally said, looking from one Synth to the other. Nick nodded.

“What… is ‘ _un_ _firecracker’_ …?”

* * *

Curie bit her lip, sucking it as she studied her naked body. She turned one way, examined herself, and then turned the other way. She bent her knee and jutted her hip. Turned this way and that. Inhaled and watched her breasts lift. Exhaled, and felt them sit back down on her chest.

If she had known she would wind up here, standing bare in her little room and looking at herself, she might have taken a mirror with her from the Vault. Instead, Curie made do with the shiny bottom of an aluminum tray to look at… well, _her_ bottom.

In the weeks that had passed since she ‘inherited’ her new body, she had spent a lot of time on re-learning what she needed to function. Meals and water and sleep. How to move quickly in combat. How to get by with only _two eyes_. Never mind just how many hours - how many _evenings_ \- she had spent getting to ‘know herself.’

But now, Curie begun to wonder what so many women before her did - was she attractive? She thought she was. Conventionally speaking, her features were symmetrical and her health was exemplary. From a medical point of view, there wasn’t much else to mention.

From an emotional perspective, she wasn’t so certain. She thought of Piper, with hair down to her shoulders and what appeared to be a stylish sense of fashion. And it was near impossible to ignore the reporter’s hourglass figure, which Curie had to admit was rather admirable. And then there was Cait - less slim, more defined. The opposite end of the scale. While Piper was femininity, Cait was athleticism. Bold and confident, with the top of her cleavage on show. And Curie found both women to be admirable for how striking they always managed to be.

She almost felt ordinary when she compared herself to them, but quickly tried to banish the thoughts from her mind. There was no cure for self-doubt. She had already learnt that hard lesson.

* * *

“Behold - an elegant weapon, crafted for an elegant lady.”

“So, whaddya think, kiddo?”

Curie thought it was impossible to see such a look of pride on the features of a Ghoul.

She thought Nick Valentine would be perfect for the radio role of _The Silver Shroud_ , if they ever made new recordings.

But she didn't know _what_ to think of the chunk of steel they presented to her, fresh from the workbench. She thought back to Deacon’s _Deliverer_ , and how smart and discreet it looked. This, on the other hand…

“It's quite big, _non_?” Big was an understatement. A modified snub-nosed revolver, with a massive barrel and enough glinting steel that she was sure it could be used to signal a vertibird. It was at least _twice_ as big as the silenced pistol. “I'm not certain I would be able to shoot it, very much…”

“That’s the point of a ‘firecracker,’ Curie,” Nick said, gesturing with a skeletal hand. “You're holding something that’ll put a Supermutant down in just a few shots, and _everyone_ is going to know it when they see it.”

“And if the look of it isn't scary enough, try firing it.” Hancock’s laughter was something between amusing and sinister as he mimed an explosion with his hands. “The bang that baby makes? They’ll run a mile!”

“Well, _most_ of them. Don't go trusting an Institute Synth to scare so easily.

Everything else? One shot is all you’ll need to get the message across.”

Curie nodded, eyes wide as the realisation dawned on her. They had crafted her a weapon which was as much form as it was function. Something that perhaps attacked a person’s psychology so effectively, she might never need to fire a shot. All she needed to do was brandish it, and the sight of such a deadly piece would perhaps even make a raider pause.

“Ingenious,” she breathed, genuinely impressed with the idea as she accepted the revolver. Her hands sank under the weight and she lifted it slowly to inspect it, watching sunlight glint off the polished steel. Dangerous, but elegant indeed.

“You know, they say the really good weapons have names,” Nick murmured around the butt of a cigarette. “Any ideas?”

“Oh, _mais oui!_ ” she grinned, tucking the weapon into the side of her belt. “If I come across any trouble on my travels, I will let my little _Placebo_ do the work for me.” Hancock’s eyes narrowed, but Nick adjusted his hat and shook his head.

“‘Placebo,’ eh? I think that works well.”

She thanked them both and went to return to her work, hearing the Ghoul muttering that he ‘didn’t get it.’ Valentine’s sigh was dramatic.

“Tell me - you ever get the feeling your Mentat’s are only workin’ because you _expect_ them to…?”

* * *

There was but one other person who made Curie nervous. Who made her question her choices and her skills and _herself_. She was one of the Railroad’s top operatives - a ‘Heavy’ who was called upon for the most difficult of missions.

Her name was Glory, and she had allowed one of her Synth’s to be sacrificed for a Miss Nanny robot to become a person.

She wasn’t quick to forget it, either.

“I shouldn’t have allowed it,” she had said later, throwing a look in her direction before turning away. Curie was brand-new to such emotions, but she already knew that it hurt Glory to look at her. “G5-19 was like family to me, ‘Charmer.’ That didn’t end when her memory was lost.” 

“Maybe not, but she’s giving someone else a chance to live,” they had argued back. “Isn’t that _why_ we joined the Railroad?”

“ _Don’t_ go throwing stones, Newbie. Deacon may vouch for you, but he makes the toaster sound intelligent when he wants to.” Curie pretended to examine a terminal, trying to process the hot feeling in the pit of her stomach from Glory’s regret. It was bound to happen whenever she had visited, she tried to tell herself - it was perhaps best to get it out of the way. But that didn’t make the confrontation any easier. 

Not even when ‘Charmer’ stood up for her.

“Curie’s probably the closest thing to a doctor in the Commonwealth. One day she might advance medicine by _years_.”

“Well until then, I hope she’s worth it.”

To call Glory ‘seething’ was an understatement, and Curie did her best to limit her time at the Railroad HQ afterwards.

This afternoon, however, she was there with _purpose_. It was Joseph Wolpe who was credited with exposure therapy - at least this is what she knew from her records in Vault 81. And the principle behind it was sound: to reduce fear and anxiety, someone should expose themselves to what frightened them. And Curie couldn’t think of anything or anyone more intimidating than Glory.

Today, she decided, was the day she accomplished things.

“ _Mademoiselle_ Glory…?” The other Synth turned away from her work and stared for a moment, as if seeing _through_ her, and Curie knew that she was remembering a time when G5-19 was a companion of hers. As quickly as it happened, the fog cleared, and Glory grew distant, her demeanor becoming cooler.

“Something I can do for you?” she asked, sounding for all the world that she’d like nothing more than to ignore the interruption in her work. Curie took a deep breath and withdrew her first aid kit.

“ _Non_ ,” she breathed, pushing the tin towards her and opening it. “Something I hope I can do for _you_.”

She spoke only of the details - of how she had found a working preservative in mutfruits, isolated it, and bonded it to the common Stimpack. And how she wanted the Railroad to be the first to benefit, donating a dozen injections that she had altered for their field agents.

Desdemona was grateful. Carrington was _impressed_. And Glory…

Glory pulled her aside.

“I’m not real good at this, but I’d say I owe you an apology.”

* * *

She wished _again_ that she had brought a mirror with her. Then made another wish that she had never begun to have such concerns over her body in the first place.

Curie had believed that while she was gaining a newfound insight, her new human mind had limitations. She was giving up the ability to think and process at the speed of light. She could dream, but not without falling asleep at night. Surely it would slow her pursuit of silence.

But she was wrong. The human _being_ was distracting. Scientific journals that discussed hormones did _nothing_ to prepare her for how hard it was to think around her hero. Every quip they had for a situation that hinted at their intelligence, every confident stride and draw of a weapon…

‘ _So deliciously distracting.’_

And Curie wanted _them_ to look at _her_ in the same way.

So, there she stood, looking herself up and down and trying to compare to the few examples of femininity that she knew. She felt like her thighs were perhaps a little thicker than Cait, though they were quickly shaping themselves from the never ending walking she was doing, growing sculpted and firm. Her narrow ankles and tiny toes only managed to stay smooth from changing her socks often.

She admired her tummy, complete with an artificial naval. Synth’s were as much flesh as they were robotic, but she was confident that they weren't _born_. Medically, there was no purpose, no reason to have a belly button besides blending in better.

Maybe it was a testament to how human she felt lately - grateful for the sensitive and cute little dip in her skin.

Curie only dared to skim her fingers through the small thatch of curls that topped her mons - soft hair that was a sign of maturity, but the sensitive skin beneath needed just of whisper of a tease before she felt her body react.

She _liked_ herself, she thought. She really did. Her bosom was much like her naval - she couldn't nurse a baby with them, but her curves added so much to her femininity. They were modest and soft and smooth, and so pale but topped with rose-colours nipples. And the nerves inside that sang and zinged when she played with them were _magic_.

They made her feel _sexy_. Her short hair felt cool and comfortable, and when she had asked Piper about the styles she could do with it, the reporter had grinned and shook her head.

“Don't do a thing,” she had said. “You're a cute tomboy - celebrate it.”

She rather liked being cute - but she wanted to look _arousing_. Wanted to be seductive and infiltrate her Savior’s thoughts as much as they did to her. Wanted them to burn and climax with her name on their lips like she so often did…

Curie blinked and looked into her reflection, recognizing the glowing cheeks and the blush crawling down her breasts. Feeling the familiar pulse between her legs, along with the temptation to reach down and pleasure herself.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to think of something else.

She couldn't go on much longer like this. She didn't feel the same sweet raptures that she used to when she indulged her needs. The same adrenalin that used to course through her veins didn’t last as long as it used to. Instead she felt an ache in her chest. The same one that she felt when she was left back in Sanctuary Hills.

She looked at herself one last time before tucking the tray away and pulling on her clothes. Deep down, she knew that it didn't matter if she was big or small, soft or firm, or even if she was a nuclear-powered Miss Nanny. Her body didn’t _define her_.

She was Curie, no matter what.

And she had to tell them just how much she adored them.

* * *

“Let me see your hands.” Glory wasn’t in the habit of asking - she simply _demanded_ , and Curie felt her hands lifted up, turned over and studied before she could say or do anything. She frowned and made a _tut_ noise, before looking the other Synth in the eye. “You’ve collected some scars, Curie.”

She blinked. Whatever she was expecting… it wasn’t that.

“I suppose I have…?” It was true enough. The few times she handled weapons left her with toughened skin from wear. Her chemical station had left a small burn on the edge of her palm. A nasty attack from a stingwing had left her arm scratched and bleeding, calling for a Stimpack to be used.

“It’s not easy for me to look at you,” Glory admitted, dropping her gaze to Curie’s hands again. “I see G5, still. Even when she was on life support, I’d sit and read to her some nights.” She let go of Curie’s hands and grew quiet for a moment.

“I’m sorry you lost her,” Curie confessed. And she was, even if she knew it wasn’t her fault. But Glory held a hand up in dismissal.

“Don’t be. G5 wanted to travel and explore, and I used to tell her it’s too dangerous. She should get out of the Commonwealth when she could. But… I’d say you’re living strong enough for both of you.” She ducked her head and laughed dryly, muttering under their breath at ‘how corny’ she sounded.

“Anyway, enough of that. So.” Glory clapped Curie on the arm. “What’s next, ‘doctor’ Curie…?”

* * *

Her heart was still hammering away inside her ribcage. Blood was coursing through her ears. Her palms felt hot, and she worried that perhaps she had left her room too soon. That she should’ve waited and calmed down more from her distractions. But she didn’t.

Her legs just kept on carrying her, marching through Sanctuary Hills and stopping only to ask Preston where she could find _them_.

“The General’s in their quarters, Curie. Why-?” She was already off again, feeling her courage starting to wane as she got closer to the door of their little shack. ‘ _No more_ ,’ she told herself, hands closing into fists. She couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ put it off any longer.

She felt her _Placebo_ weigh against her hip. Her spare first aid kit bounced on the other side. She even had told _Glory_ of her plans, and the older Synth had simply barked with laughter and muttered ‘about time.’

She was a Commonwealth medic. A survivor. She could do this.

Her fist came up, knuckles white as she rapped on the doorway.

She had a plan, of course. She would share her medical breakthrough, and tell them that she was finally able to find inspiration. And then, let them know just how deep her feelings for them ran.

“Curie?” She licked dry lips as the familiar face greeted her, swinging the door open wider for her to enter. “What’s going on?”

“I love you.”

She couldn’t stop herself. Her plan went out of her mind as soon as she saw them and she wrung her hands together, fidgeting as they stood in the open doorway.

“I thought that my greatest obstacle in becoming a human was the limits of the mind, but it’s _you_.” Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. Her palms grew more damp from perspiration, but the words kept tumbling out.

“You are _constantly_ on my mind. I fall asleep thinking of you. I wake up and _miss_ you. Your words and your actions and even the _way you walk_ distracts me. You tease me and my eyes water. You say something clever and my body _wants_ you. You’re so _heroic_ and I ask myself what I have to do to _be_ with you. And-”

Curie’s thought her mind was about to erupt from the torrent of words rushing to get to her mouth. She was compelled to say anything, everything. To unburden herself and _finally_ find out the answer to the question she agonized over.

And then her mind went dark and quiet, the thoughts fleeing like shadows running from a light. Warm, moist lips were pressing against her own, brushing over her mouth in such an intimate way that she trembled. Firm arms crossed over her shoulders and rubbed down her back.

The bombs could have dropped again for all she knew or cared. Nothing else seemed to exist.

“I love you, too, Curie.”

She was sure her little heart would burst in her chest.


	5. A: Conclusion - Nate

**5A - Conclusion (Nate)**

_**Noun** _ **: the end or close; final part.**

* * *

"What are your thoughts, Curie?"

She imagined Nate was talking about their debriefing from the Railroad, or how difficult it was to secure the last cache. Not that PAM seemed terribly affected by it. But on the walk back home, Curie's thoughts dwelled on running her hands through sprinkles of chest hair and feeling a warm hand squeezing her bum.

"If you listen, you may hear my heart flutter," she admitted, teeth pressing against her lip as she admired his profile.

Nate's smile was somewhere between affectionate and playful, and she soon found herself held against his side as his lips brushed against her warm cheek.

"I'll have to kiss it better when we get home, then."

* * *

Nothing excited Curie more than the memory of her first shy, teasing touches. Virgin hands exploring and discovering herself, always so wonderfully surprised when she stroked somewhere new and was rewarded when her nerves sprang to life.

And now it felt like  _nothing_  when Nate's worn fingers brushed over her folds, leaving her legs trembling and a bolt of anticipation coursing through her. She never knew where he was going to be next - always guessing where he was going to touch her and how, squirming when he finally did.

"You're teasing me," she pouted, scraping her nails down the length of his back.

"You're too sweet  _not_  to tease," Nate whispered back, and Curie arched and mewled as he sucked an aching nipple.

"Nate!" She could hear her blood pound in her ears and feel his tongue lavish her chest. She wanted to cling and curse as his fingers slowly pushed inside her body, so much bigger and bolder than her petite little ones. And Curie didn't control when he pumped and curled and spread them - she could only bury her hands in his hair and feel her climax quickly building between her legs.

" _Amour_ , I can't… I'm so close…!"

Curie's head spun as his teeth scraped her tender breast. His fingers slowing their teasing moves inside her slippery core.

"Come for me," he breathed, leaning up from her wet nipple to kiss her lips. Curie snaked her arms around his neck and clung to him, holding him tight against her and hungrily tasting him as he fingered her. She came apart a moment later, muscles clamping around his fingers. She tensed, shook, squeezed her eyes shut and cried against Nate's lips, her orgasm sweeping through her like a storm.

* * *

Curie didn't think she would ever get used to violence. But the thought of losing Nate was motivation enough to steady her hand while she aimed down the sights of her gun. Hancock and Valentine would be proud to know their work was so sought after. Only half the time did she manage to pacify or scare someone with her revolver. The rest decided they'd rather kill her and pry it from her bloody hands.

Diplomacy died with the first shot. But a Gunner or raider was always the second victim. Nate was protective of 'his little Curie,' bringing his weapon to bare with frightening accuracy. And even if she wasn't as sharp as he was,  _Placebo_  fired shots like a massive whip, cracking the air and blasting healthy limbs into red mists and shards of bone.

"What the fuck kind've gun is that?!"

"I don't know, just get-"  _Crack!_

Curie wondered who had it worse - her target, instantly slaughtered, or the scared and confused survivors who were picked off an instant later by Nate. She never dwelled on it - it was all about survival. And she usually had work to do afterwards, anyway.

"You need to be more careful, my love," she would chide, tapping a Stimpack before injecting what would soon become another scar. "I wish to travel with you for many years to come!" He favored her with a genuine, apologetic smile before rubbing his ear.

"Do you have anything for a ringing head…? Your gun is  _loud_."

She just leaned down and affectionately kissed the side of his head, inhaling the scent of gunpowder and feeling her heart flutter in her chest. She would keep him safe.

Love beats all odds, after all. Firefights included.

* * *

Curie felt nervous, excited energy bubbling in her tummy and tingling in her fingertips. She had thought of it, even  _dreamt_  of it. As she watched Nate pushing his briefs off, she had to fight the urge to just run her hands all over him. To study each of the scars he had accumulated from the Commonwealth and brush her lips against them. To press against him and let herself feel small and safe and cared for. To reach down and intimately study his bobbing hardness like lovers do.

And then she felt shyness rising up inside her. She wrung her hands together and pulled her legs closer to her chest. She bit her lip,  _hard_ , until he noticed and sat down beside her.

He was a father. He had done this all before. And as much as she played with herself, she was, for all purposes, a virgin.

And it scared her to think that she would be boring or awkward.

"Hey, are you okay?" Nate pressed a worn, roughened hand against her face and she felt herself melting against it, leaning closer automatically.

"I am… very new to this," she admitted quietly, peering up from behind thick lashes. His smile still managed to stir the butterflies in her tummy.

"Then we'll take our time until you're confident, honey."

She nodded and pressed her hands to his chest. She couldn't sit so close to him naked and  _not_  touch him.

That evening he held her close and whispered affectionate things, leaving her blushing and damp with sweat. She hesitated again as she moved lower over his stomach, until Nate pressed a wide palm against her breast and stroked easy circles over her.

"I love you," he murmured into her ear, and she arched against him.

"I love you, too." She really did.

"Then don't be afraid to touch me, Curie." He kissed her neck slowly, intimately. She reached down and grabbed his hardened prick, feeling her chest flush hot from excitement and arousal and a sense of  _finally_.

' _He is mine_ ,' she thought, curling her fingers around warm flesh and stroking slowly. Nate tensed and hissed into her neck, and she had never felt so powerful and sexy in her life. ' _And this is mine. And I can touch him all I want_.'

"I want you," she whispered, feeling emboldened. "Take me. Make love to me,  _amore_."

Curie stretched out on his bed, bending her knees and parting her legs. She used to fantasize about this moment, wondering if she would be seductive and graceful like women in those romantic magazines. Now she was just impatient, her chest heaving as Nate settled between her knees. She drank in the sight of him, naked and hard and wet at the tip  _for her_ , feeling her toes curl and her stomach burn hot.

She arched and gasped and clung to him as he entered her. She felt her folds spread. Felt her slippery entrance stretch. Her throbbing core  _full_  of him, so much bigger than her fingers of even her test tube. Nate was thick and hard and real. He was flesh and blood, pulsing  _inside her_  and  _for_  her.

Curie wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her legs around his hips. Felt his damp forehead press against hers. And then he  _moved_  and she wanted to yell and moan and let everyone know of how good she felt. To finally have him gliding in and out of her body, kissing the side of her face, brushing across her nipples with his chest, teasing her clit with his hips.

She tensed like never before. Every muscle turned hard as she clung to him, her feet digging into his hips and her nails scratching down his back as her orgasm rocked her like a ship at sea. Curie tightened around him, around that aching muscle that made her feel  _so good_  until she felt what she was waiting for. Nate's sharp inhale, his own telltale shakes and tensing.

She held onto him, keeping him locked inside her body. A Synth couldn't fall pregnant, and she selfishly wanted all of him.

"Fill me," she rasped, her throat dry from a dozen stifled moans.

Nate buried himself inside her, spilling hot, sticky seed into her body. Curie felt every twitch, every pump. Her hands pulled at his hair as she felt him in her deepest depths.

"I love you," she whispered, her legs still tight around his hips. She whispered it again and again, until they were both too tired to stay awake.

* * *

It was weeks later when they found themselves inside Diamond City. In a way, Curie had been putting it off - it was  _her_  visit to make, and she was somewhat embarrassed about it all. But Doctor Sun had all but begged for her to visit, and she couldn't bring herself to turn him down. Not when she was so determined to aid medicine in the Commonwealth.

"So, you see, if we are able to isolate  _this_  seed of the mutfruit, we will find our preservative,  _non_?"

She was happy to create and distribute her Stimpacks personally, but there was good sense in passing on her techniques to others. Nate had summed it up well, as he always did. ' _Give someone a fish and they eat for a day. Teach someone to fish and they eat for life._   _Which won't be long if they eat irradiated fish, but still._ '

She had swatted him away after that, shaking her head as he laughed. They shared an easy dynamic. One where she felt as confident as she did comfortable.

"I can't thank you enough," Sun had said, nodding towards the rest of the settlement. "You'd be amazed at how many lives are saved by Stimpacks around here. Thanks to you, we might see that number double, doctor."

Curie smiled and accepted his hand to shake, but politely shook her head.

"I'm afraid you misunderstand. I am not a true doctor." But Sun was having none of it.

"In the world we live in, you might be the only one who  _can_  call herself a doctor. And I can't see anyone arguing with it, either. In  _fact…"_ Sun stopped just long enough to tap his shoe against the hatch of the clinic's stock room.

"I'd be very grateful if you had a few words of advice for my student. She learns quickly, but she's a bit… well, frightened at the thought of venturing outside Diamond City."

"Ah, but of course!" In truth, Curie was amazed to think that she was being asked. Doctor Collins used to talk to her about the bond people shared when they taught one another. That trust that developed between an apprentice and teacher.

' _I like to think we have that_ ,' he would say, and the Miss Nanny would nod her eye-stalks as best as she could.

' _I do too, doctor.'_

"Amanda." Doctor Sun urged a young woman forward, hands clasped patiently. "This is Doctor Curie. She's visiting us today to share some breakthroughs, and thought it was a good opportunity to speak to you."

"Hello," Amanda said, smiling awkwardly. Curie beamed at her.

" _Bonjour_ , Amanda."

* * *

Some mornings she would wake up first, and quietly lie there. It was still easy for her to get lost in her thoughts about things that had come and gone and what might have been. If she had said things differently. If she had perhaps been more assertive. More bold. She reminded herself that living in the past was the surest way to waste her time and nothing more. And there was now so much more that the present had to offer her.

Within a month of her confession, Curie had grown  _very_  bold indeed. It was no wonder, really - she was passionate and Nate was patient. If she was shy or curious, he would hold her hand and kiss her knuckles. Rub her back soothingly. Talk to her, telling her it was okay and guiding her wandering hands.

Maybe he had spoiled her, she thought. Before she would look at him in his clothes and think about how terribly distracting he was. Now, she'd gaze at him naked and think ' _mine_.' She no longer hesitated to touch him or kiss him. She was eager and he was responsive, and every encounter left her feeling more confident than before.

Some mornings, she would wake up first. And Nate would be roused soon after, head heavy as he felt a gentle weight near his legs and a hot, wet mouth around his sensitive prick.

"Good morning, my love," Curie would whisper between his legs, watching him behind thick lashes as she slid her lips around his hardness and sucked.

* * *

The future was something that seemed too far away to worry about. In the Commonwealth, life in general seemed too stressed and dangerous to have a long term plan. But for the little group of Sanctuary Hills, it was infinitely more complicated.

The Railroad wanted to wage a full on war with the Institute, just as the Brotherhood of Steel did. Only, to complicate matters, both factions were just as eager to wipe each other off the map. Their routine missions for caps and armaments seemed to become tests of loyalty.

Nate told her that if it came down to a choice, he couldn't support the Brotherhood of Steel. They wanted nothing less than the destruction of all Synths, and if they ever found out about her, it would include Curie in their purge. Privately, she hoped they would never have to come down to choosing. The thought of crossing the Brotherhood left her stomach in knots - not because of having to face some of the more welcoming members, like Proctor Ingram, but because of how defensive they were.

She couldn't imagine Nate surviving that encounter, and it was more than she could take.

"Have you thought about the future?" he asked one morning as she lay against his chest.

"I try not to, if I am honest." She let her blunt nails trace patterns over his skin. "So much violence…"

"I'm not that bad at building houses, am I?"

She lifted her head and narrowed her eyes.

"I am serious,  _amore_."  
"So am I."

"I'm not sure about  _what_."

"Let's live together."

She blinked, looking around the steel and wooden shack he had built in the heart of the town. She gave her chemistry station a pointed look.

"I think we already are?"

"I mean  _properly_." He grabbed her hand and brought it closer, kissing the back of it. "I mean… do you know why people used to wear rings on this finger?"

Curie blinked, her eyes growing wider. It had been a long time since Nate wore his own, and she had never asked what happened to it. She was a little afraid to bring up his lost wife. Instead, she swallowed and nodded, recalling what she had been told so many centuries before.

"The ring is the symbol for eternity," she said, licking her lips and lifting her hand. "And the vein in  _this finger_  connects straight to the heart."

"So, if I wanted to make a ring for you… What would you say?"

She was sure he could feel her heart hammering away against him. Curie curled her legs up and leaned back, looking him in the eye to see if he was serious.

" _Oui_. Yes. Yes, yes,  _mon dieu_ , yes!" She wasn't sure she could laugh and weep at the same time. All she knew was Nate's grin was brilliant.

There never was much feeling of a future in the Commonwealth.

But Curie was happy.

* * *

_**AN:**  So, Curie's little tale has come to an end. If I'm honest, I could have gone on writing her for a good many chapters, I think. She's such an adorable and well rounded character to portray._

_The problem, you probably guessed, was keeping the Sole Survivor as gender-neutral and detail-free as possible. Easy enough for a chapter or two, but nearly impossible for long narratives. And from the comments I've seen on some of the sites I'm posting, calling them "they" all the time can be confusing. But I really wanted everyone to be able to enjoy this one. Not just the people who picked one gender or the other at the start of their Fallout 4 game._

_So, did you read both versions of the ending? I didn't want to be lazy and do a copy/paste job, but you probably noticed that Curie's story really doesn't change if she's romanced by a man or a woman. They're pretty interchangeable, really. These last two parts were written together at the same time - think of them as running parallel together. If nothing else, I hope everyone got some closure for their chosen Survivor and their little Synth girlfriend._

_Cydney, aka Smutty Circus,_

_Dec 5th._


	6. B: Finale - Nora

**5B - Finale (Nora)**

_**Noun** _ **: the last piece, division, or movement of a concert, opera, or composition.**

* * *

"What do you think, Curie?"

If she had to guess, she thought that Nora was probably asking about how satisfied Carrington was by their successful mission. Or maybe just breaking the silence on the road back to Sanctuary Hills. But Curie's thoughts were less than pure, especially with Nora's brow beaded with sweat and a gentle flush staining her cheeks.

"I find myself eager for the night," she admitted, smiling coyly at her saviour. Nora's eyes seemed to twinkle with mischief as she reached out and took the Synth's hand, brushing her thumb over the skin and pulling her closer.

"I'm tired," she said, leaning closer until Curie felt her lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Let's go to bed early, tonight."

* * *

If she were honest with herself, Curie had probably spent  _dozens_  of evenings fantasizing about this. Of laying bare before her hero and allowing them to slowly and  _thoroughly_ ravish her. She loved imagining Nora's lips skirting her thighs and her fingers brushing the puff of hair that topped her folds.

"Oh!  _Mon deiu!_ "

And it was  _nothing_  like how she imagined it to be. Her feverish mind couldn't compare to the sight of her beloved saviour kneeling there, caressing Curie's legs and knees like she was made of fragile glass, kissing closer towards her wet folds.

"You're  _gorgeous,_  honey," Nora whispered, and Curie felt her blush crawl further down her body, from her face to her breasts. She had waited so long to show her all of her secrets and desires.

And it was worth the wait to hear it, she thought, before her heart jumped in her chest and she moaned. Nora grinned cheekily, eyes sparkling as she breathed a puff of warm hair over her chestnut curls.

"You taste beautiful, too," she added, and Curie's mind raced. ' _Was she really going to-?'_  Her hips jumped, her legs bending and crossing over Nora's back. She palmed her breasts and pinched her peaks, her mind  _flooded_  with thoughts as her saviour licked between her folds.

"What did you just  _do_?" She could barely function. Her breath came iin short pants. Her toes curled and uncurled. Her core was  _still_  pulsing. It was so  _different_  from her little fingers. Hot and wet and strong against her sensitive skin, and Nora gave her a saucy look from between her legs.

"I want to make you feel  _good,_ love," she whispered, and Curie watched with rapture as she kissed her again. Teased her. Then gently spread her petals and lapped at her aching flesh. The poor Synth's mind grew foggy and dizzy and  _desperate_.

"If you keep doing that, I'll break apart" she whined, her heels digging into Nora's shoulders.

"I want you to" she answered, before covering her clit and  _sucking_.

Curie had never come so hard, bucking her hips and pressing herself against Nora's generous mouth.

* * *

' _Love beats all odds.'_

It was a moment she still reflected on, when a struggling Nanny robot named Edna yearned to share her feelings with a school teacher she worked with. There would have been enough obstacles for the two to work between, but Nora had brushed them away and reassured the droid.

If she were ever asked, Curie would say it was the moment when she began to fall for her saviour. She only felt a little guilty that she was given a chance that Edna didn't have.

If there was just one thing she missed from her pearly white chassis, it was how sturdy and well-armed it was. A piping hot flamer did  _wonders_ for crowd control.

Now, she held her  _Placebo_  in a steady hand and aimed it at a Gunner's chest, satisfied when they balked and hesitated to move on the two women.

"Don't make my girlfriend shoot you," Nora muttered, arms crossed. She almost sounded bored, but Curie knew better than that: it was a quiet attempt to end things before they began. "I mean, you can just walk away now and we'll forget all about it."

"Yeah, that's some gun she's holding." The 'main' Gunner gave it a look of appreciation, scratching a greasy cheek with the back of her thumb. "Think we'll just kill you and  _take it_."

Nora's pistol snapped upwards, firing two rounds into their face before the rest of the area fell into chaos.

Curie missed her flamethrower, if only for how brilliantly she was able to protect her  _amore_  with it. But, love beats all odds - she pressed her back to Nora's and brought her gun to bear, determined to drive away anyone who would wish them harm.

 _Placebo_  fired like a bolt of lightning splitting the sky.

* * *

It was hard for her not to stare when Nora finished undressing, standing naked under the dim glow of a salvaged light bulb. Curie was as excited as she was nervous, admiring the many pale scars that criss-crossed her partner's body as she gazed up and down. Survivor's badges, she called them once, ducking her head and grinning coyly. ' _Are you sure you don't want to look at the rest of me?_ ' Nora had asked.

But now Curie felt the nervous fluttering of her heart. The sensation of little winged creatures doing dances in her tummy. Her savior had a narrow waist that flared into wide hips, and full breasts that looked heavier than her own perky bosom. But of course she would.  
Nora had given birth. She had breastfed her baby.

She had been intimate before, and Curie hadn't. Not with another person.

"I can hear your heart going a mile a minute," Nora hummed. She sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned closer to the Synth. She didn't hide her playful smile as Curie's eyes fell upon her chest, watching as her breasts swayed with her movements and enjoying the attention.

" _Oui_. I… do not want to disappoint." She wondered if her voice could get any smaller. But Nora just smiled reassuringly, leaning forward and pressing a sweet, gentle kiss against her lips.

"I love you," she sighed, worn thumb brushing over the Synth's blushing cheeks. "So… just relax and we'll go slow, alright?"

Curie only nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

The pair played for hours, learning all that they could about each other's bodies. Curie learned that Nora's breasts were so  _very_  sensitive, and the way she panted and writhed from having them kissed and nibbled and sucked left the Synth giddy with arousal.

"You make such cute faces," she whispered with affection. Nora bit her finger to keep from waking up all of Sanctuary Hills.

She also found out just how  _flexible_  she was, finding herself pinned to the bed with her feet pointed upwards and Nora's teeth at her ankle. The nervous excitement she felt tripled at being held in such a lewd pose, with her saviour shamelessly looking at her puffy folds as if she were a dessert to devour.

"You really are gorgeous you know," she said again, and Curie didn't think she could grow hotter inside. Her chest flushed and her head spun, drunk from lust and affection.

"You're too good at teasing little Curie," she moaned softly, biting her lip as Nora ran her hands up and down her body.

"I'd rather make my little Curie  _come_ , really." She pulled the damp and naked Synth forward, sliding her leg over her hips and scooting closer. Hot, wet, puffy folds came into contact, sliding against each other as she settled in between her legs.

Nora ground against her, passing over sensitive flesh and a hardened clit and leaving Curie a stammering mess.

" _Mon dieu!_ "

She grinned down at the Synth, feeling her tense and shudder. "Having fun, love?"

Nora's eyes slid shut and she gasped. She wasn't prepared for her lover to recover so soon, feeling a hand grabbing her leg before her hips were ground against. The same hot, slippery flesh massaged her pussy, igniting bundles of nerves and leaving her panting.

"I have more fun when I see you like this," Curie giggled, biting her lip and staring. And then she thrust and bumped and rolled her hips, watching Nora's mouth hang open as she rubbed against her lover.

"You learn fast," she breathed. Nora licked her dry lips, palming her breast and playing with her nipple. By the time her vision cleared, she saw Curie had adopted the same pose, massaging her perky chest. Both of their legs were shaking, their movements growing sloppier and more desperate as they rubbed their folds harder against each other.

It was the little virgin Synth who 'won', watching Nora stifle a cry before her orgasm tore through her, leaving her soaked with sweat and trembling.

Curie came apart a minute later, cuddled against her tired partner. Nora held her tight, kissed her hard and palmed her slippery mons, swirling fast and hard until she climaxed.

* * *

"So, what made you wish to pursue medicine, Amanda?" She sat down at one of the stools that Doctor Sun had set up around his bench in Diamond City, folding her hands in her lap as his apprentice sat down opposite her. Curie wondered how long she must have been under his tutelage. Did all medics have understudies? Would  _she_  have one someday? The idea of passing on her knowledge and experience was… as exciting as it was frightening.

No wonder it had taken her so long to visit Sun and pass on her Stimpack formula.

"About a month, maybe?" Amanda twiddled her thumbs, not quite looking at her. "I used to hang out in the Dug Out Inn all day long after Sis vanished. Got so sick from liquor one day that they had to carry me here to get my system flushed out." Amanda flushed at the confession, but Curie did her best to remain impassive. There were hundreds of stories in the Commonwealth that went the same - just with a different ensemble. It would've been easy for anyone to crawl into a bottle if their family had up and vanished.

An image of Nora drowning her sorrows swam to the surface of her mind, and she pushed it aside. Not everyone had her fortitude. Many weren't so lucky.

"I hope you weren't too ill,  _mademoiselle_."

"Doctor Sun fixed me right up," Amanda smiled. "Gave me a kick in the ass, too. Told me not to throw away my life. The next day I came back to thank him. I've… pretty much been here since." She shrugged, offering Curie a lopsided smile.

"So I wouldn't say I know  _lots_  about medicine, but I'd like to learn…?" The Synth gave her a gentle smile and nodded. She would forever have a soft spot for anyone who wanted to learn.

"Well, if you have questions, I would be happy to assist you," she said.

"Actually, about that." Amanda's eyes wandered down to her hip, where Curie could feel the now-familiar weight of her revolver resting. "You've travelled a  _lot_ , right…? Any advice for just living in the Commonwealth?"

"How do you mean, Amanda…? Like a travelling physician?"

"I'd like to find my Sis someday. And I know I won't be able to if I stay here. That's all."

Curie's heart went out to the poor girl. She wondered if Nick would be able to help in any way, or if he had already offered.

"Of course," she said, knowing that the odds of anyone 'vanishing' didn't bode well for them. But she couldn't bring herself to say it. "My first advice? Find someone to defend."

Amanda blinked, brow furrowing. "Shouldn't I try and… you know, defend  _myself_?"

"My dear." Curie clasped her hands and smiled patiently. "If you find someone you want to defend, I  _promise_  that many of your fears will all but vanish."

* * *

Curie liked waking up before Nora, if only because she loved watching the other woman sleep. Most of their days were spent in motion, with both of them travelling and shooting and healing and dealing with the Commonwealth. But of a morning, she could just lie there near her lover's breast and watch her, admiring how peaceful she looked as she slept.

She had come a long way from when she first began sharing the same bed. Curie was shy, but Nora wasn't. She never hesitated to take her partner's hands into her own and guide them over her body, assuring her that it was okay.

"It's what lovers do, honey," she said, smiling sweetly as the Synth delicately rubbed her chest.

Now, within a month of her marching into Nora's home and admitting everything, Curie had grown  _very_  comfortable with her girlfriend's body. She allowed herself to admire the heavy swell of her breast and the thin scars on her shoulders. Let herself peek down at her long legs and thighs and think to herself ' _she is mine and I am hers, and I can touch her as much as she can touch me_.'

Because if there was one thing she loved more than Nora's hands caressing her, it was turning around and caressing Nora back. To have the freedom to touch her anywhere was something Curie treasured. And something she took advantage of.

Nora would wake up shaking some mornings, head dizzy and her pussy pulsing, confused before she felt a now-familiar lick up along her lips.

"Rise and shine, darling," Curie breathed playfully. Nora would blink the sleep from her eyes just in time to watch her girlfriend kissing her hardened clit before sucking.

* * *

Nobody talked much about the future. Not many people lived to old age in the Commonwealth. Raiders and wasteland creatures saw to that. But it felt lately like each day was bringing them closer to some great moment where they might not all survive.

The Railroad had stepped up their operations, all but taunting the Institute into coming after them. Similarly, the Brotherhood of Steel's  _Prydwen_  airship seemed to release more and more vertibirds a day, scouring the land for technology and Synth's to fight.

And that was a problem with the Railroad. Even though they shared a common enemy, both factions were distrustful of one another. And each day the rift grew wider and wider. Nora was sure it wouldn't be long until a line was drawn in the sand between them. And if they didn't pick a side to be on, they were just as likely to be targeted as well.

"I hope we do not have to fight the Brotherhood," Curie whispered one morning, cuddled naked against Nora's side and playing with her curly locks.

"I don't like the idea of shooting at the few nice ones, no."

"I'm more concerned about Liberty Prime - I cannot see us  _surviving_  it, love."

Nora pulled Curie closer, pressing a soft kiss against her forehead and sighing.

"The future's looking pretty grim lately, isn't it?"

" _Oui_." The Synth looked around the room, at where Nora's possessions had steadily become Nora's  _and_  Curie's. The little shack was feeling like a home, now.

"I love you." Curie smiled and pressed herself closer against her partner's side.  
"And I, you."  
"Will you marry me?"

There was a moment where time stopped. Curie leaned up and stared, mouth open, certain she misheard her.  
"What… was that?"

"I said, I  _adore_  you. And I want us to be together. And I want us to wear rings that tell everybody how much you mean to me."

Curie didn't think it was possible to be able to smile and cry and laugh and nod so much at the same time.

"Yes," she nodded, wiping at her wet eyes. "Yes. Yes, yes. Yes!" Nora slid her arms around her neck and pulled her back down against the bed, pressing kisses across her damp cheeks.

Nobody talked much about the future.

But Curie was happy.

* * *

_**AN:**  So, Curie's little tale has come to an end. If I'm honest, I could have gone on writing her for a good many chapters, I think. She's such an adorable and well rounded character to portray._

_The problem, you probably guessed, was keeping the Sole Survivor as gender-neutral and detail-free as possible. Easy enough for a chapter or two, but nearly impossible for long narratives. And from the comments I've seen on some of the sites I'm posting, calling them "they" all the time can be confusing. But I really wanted everyone to be able to enjoy this one. Not just the people who picked one gender or the other at the start of their Fallout 4 game._

_So, did you read both versions of the ending? I didn't want to be lazy and do a copy/paste job, but you probably noticed that Curie's story really doesn't change if she's romanced by a man or a woman. They're pretty interchangeable, really. These last two parts were written together at the same time - think of them as running parallel together. If nothing else, I hope everyone got some closure for their chosen Survivor and their little Synth girlfriend._

_Cydney, aka Smutty Circus,_

_Dec 5th._


End file.
